


What Friends Are For

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Conversations, Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Multi, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 23:26:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18838924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: Following recent events, Sam and Rowena engage in a long overdue heart to heart.





	What Friends Are For

Rowena wasn't too fond of people coming over (being brutally murdered tended to do that to a person), but having the Winchesters over for dinner wasn't nearly as bad as she imagined.

Quite the contrary — the evening had gone rather well.

She supposed she owed them that much, having called them for a case in her town (you were adamant she leave it all to them, the overprotective lass you were) and almost getting them killed in the process. But really, how was she supposed to know the beast would try to carve their organs out — literally — with its razor-sharp claws? They were hunters. She assumed they would stop it before it got to that point.

Guess not.

In fairness to her, she'd had the best intentions at heart. The thing was killing people in her town; it had to be stopped. Besides, it wasn't like she'd left them to fend for themselves. She'd gone into battle with them, and was left with deep gashes down her arms and chest as proof. Gashes that still stung, despite the healing salve you'd rubbed into them, the bandages you'd wrapped around them, and the pain potion you'd made for her.

If it wasn't for you, she and the boys would have been dead. You'd had enough sense, in your panicked state that screamed with fear for your life and concern for Rowena's, to yell out a spell to throw the monster away and stun it enough for Sam and Dean to finish it off.

That was, before your eyes fell on Rowena's blood-soaked arms and chest and you freaked out so much that she, holding back hisses from the pain that throbbed and pulsated in her wounds like a heart lined with razors, had to assure you she was okay, that it looked worse than it was (it didn't. It _was_ that bad) and she would live.

She _would_ live. That was what mattered the most.

Rowena had ordered food from her favorite restaurant. Nothing but the best for her guests. Afterwards, Sam offered to wash the dishes, his way of saying thank you for the dinner. Rowena, sick of the noise of you and Dean discussing (or rather arguing about) movies she had no interest in, especially now that she was forced to hear about them while eating, went with him.

The two of them split the job — Sam was washing the dishes, while Rowena dried them off and set them aside, to be returned to their rightful place later. The two worked in peace for a while, until Sam spoke.

"Rowena, are-how are you doing?"

Caught off guard, Rowena was silent for a few moments. "Good." She held up her bandaged arms. "These bloody things sting a bit, but I'm fine."

"That's great. But I meant the other thing," Sam said. Rowena frowned, confused. Clearing his throat nervously, he elaborated, "A few days ago was the second anniversary, right?"

Oh.

Oh!

Rowena's throat tightened as if an invisible hand wrapped thick fingers around it and held on, intent on squeezing the life out of her. Her mouth felt like stuffed with cotton. The constant, comforting warmth drained from her body, cold, deadly shivers replacing it, slithering under her skin like worms, devouring her up from the inside. Pulling her back into the darkness she kept trying to run away from; the darkness that, despite her efforts to overcome it, always caught up with her, always swallowed her whole and filled her with fear and dread and agony that had been with her since that horrible day.

The day Lucifer had surprised her at her hotel room, choked her, mercilessly stomped on her head until the room was wholly sprayed with blood, and set her on fire. She'd felt everything; every smack of his heavy shoe against her skull, every acidic lick of the flames. She still felt it. It remained fresh in her memory, the pain she wished to forget resurfacing every now and then, taking her back to that day, to that hotel room, to that city she'd vowed to never step foot in again.

The anniversaries were the worst. They made the pain more lively, more real. Brought back fear that even your tightest hugs and promises of safety couldn't chase away.

"Aye," Rowena said quietly.

Sam nodded. "You doing okay?"

"I am," she replied, and it was true. She slept well most nights, the nightmares that used to follow her into almost every dream now a rare occurrence. She wasn't scared anymore, not since she'd heard of Lucifer's demise. There were a few times when tinges of fear shot through her, but a reminder that he was dead and rotting was enough to calm her down. That, and a long, warm hug that made her feel like home, that reminded her that she _was_ home. She still remembered sometimes, still got flashbacks out of nowhere and had to avoid certain scenes in fiction she consumed lest she wanted to trigger the all-consuming memories, but that was nothing she couldn't handle. Nothing she couldn't learn to live with. In a way she already had. "There are times when it's hard, but for the most part, I'm alright. I don't scream in terror all day long, if that's what you're asking."

The last part was a joke, but Sam, either oblivious or wanting to make it clear just in case, was quick to refute it. "I didn't mean—"

"I know," Rowena cut in, a small smile playing on her mouth. Not a completely genuine one, but containing enough traces of lightheartedness in it to be convincing. The mood could use some lighting up.

The hunter returned the smile, his nervous, careful. "You sleep okay?"

"Mostly," she replied honestly. "Even when I don't, it's not as bad as before."

It still shook her to the core, but the nightmares weren't nearly as bad as when they first started. They were more bearable, easier to put behind and go back to sleep.

Sam gave a nod. "That's good. And the rest? The Michael thing?"

"It's behind me," Rowena said. A traumatic experience, but nothing in comparison to her brutal death at the Devil's hands. "How are _you_ dealing with that? We never got to talk about it."

They were both messed up following the ordeal. Sam was mourning the dead. Rowena was struggling to feel comfortable in her skin again, hating herself for saying yes, for giving her body away to a maniac to use as he desired. For — inadvertently, but she still bore part of the blame — hurting Sam. It was her hands that had taken the lives of the people he cared about. Her hands that were dirty with their blood.

She wanted to talk to him about it. Wanted to explain, to give her side of the story. Wanted him to know she'd done it for him and the others, one of her few selfless acts.

Then other — deadlier — things happened, and they never got a chance to discuss it.

"I'm okay," Sam said. "For the most part." He sighed, his eyes turning sad, haunted. "I was supposed to protect those people. I was their leader, and I-I let them down."

"No, Samuel," Rowena told him. "I'm sure you did the best you could for them."

He gave a bitter chuckle. "Look where it got them."

Rowena wasn't having it. "You're a good man, Sam. You gave those people a whole extra year of life. It may not seem like much, but, I promise, to them it meant everything. They weren't children; they were aware there are dangers in this world the same as theirs. Some things they had to protect themselves from all on their own, or try to at least."

And they'd tried. Good god, they'd tried. Rowena shuddered at the memory of those people — those innocents — trying to fight Michael off, trying to protect themselves, save their lives. All futile. They were no match for an archangel.

An archangel she'd let do that to them.

She wasn't going to let Sam blame himself for her mess.

"Besides, I'm the one who said yes to Michael. He used my hands to kill them." She put her hands up, remembering the blood that used to cling to them, the copper taste still fresh in her mind. "If anyone's at fault, it's me."

"No," Sam said quickly. He lowered the plate he'd been washing into the warm water and turned to her, features pained, earnest. "You did what you had to do. Michael told us—"

"I didn't," she cut in.

The hunter frowned. "What?"

"I didn't tell you. You didn't hear it from me."

She wanted him to know she had no ill intents at heart. Wanted him to hear the words from her lips, from her heart.

"I don't have to. I know you wouldn't have willingly said yes."

Her heart warmed at his words. "I thought you'd blame me."

"I have no reason to blame you."

You'd told her the same thing, with a note that if he did blame her, you would have words with him. Rowena was glad to hear the confirmation directly from him.

"That's nice to hear." More than nice. Exhilarating. Overwhelming. Freeing. Like a burden she'd been carrying all these months had finally been lifted. "Not a lot of nice has been happening lately."

The world had gone to hell. All thanks to its creator.

There was a very good reason Rowena was — had always been — Pagan.

Blasted Charles!

"Yeah," Sam agreed. Gloom settled on his face, quickly followed by anguish and despair. His bright eyes reddened, brimming with tears that sparkled like diamonds. One spilled down his cheek in a wet, salty trail. "I miss Jack."

Rowena laid a hand on his shoulder, an instinct from all the times you sought comfort in her, relied on her to make you well. She wanted to make Sam well. Her heart screamed with the need, but she knew it was nothing but a fantasy. She couldn't do anything for him. Couldn't bring Jack back. Couldn't undo the destruction Charles had brought upon the world.

All she could do was let him know she was here, that she understood and was a willing ear for his ails.

"He was a lucky boy," she said. "He knew you and Dean and Castiel loved him dearly. Wherever he is, I'm sure he still knows it."

Her own eyes filled with tears. She still wasn't sure how she felt about the nephilim's demise. Was it grief? Or just sadness that yet another person in her life who had been kind to her, whom she'd come to love, was gone? She couldn't tell. She didn't want to think about it. Thinking about it hurt, and she was sick of hurting.

"I wish I could've saved him," Sam admitted in a low voice, almost a whisper.

"You tried." Which was more than Rowena could say for herself. She'd abandoned her child. Forced herself to hate him because loving him hurt too much. Only let go of the hate after he'd died the second — final — time. Out of all things she'd done, this she would never forgive herself for. "Y/N always tells me trying is important, even if you fail. And she's right. You loved that boy. I've no doubt you did the best you could to help him. The outcome, tragic as it is, doesn't matter. Intentions do. And yours were good."

Sam took it in. Breathed in and out as he thought her words through. With a trembling mouth, he said, "He didn't deserve to die."

"He didn't," Rowena agreed. "Sometimes people who don't deserve it get hurt the most. It's awful, but it's life."

"Life sucks."

"It does. You, Dean, and Castiel must stick together now. It'll be easier to get through this if you've got someone with you."

Sam nodded. "We're trying, but…"

But they were too different. Too opposite of each other. Rowena understood that well.

"It was like that with me," she said. "Two years ago. Y/N wanted to help me, and I kept shutting her out. I thought I was protecting her by keeping her out of it. But really, I was trying to protect myself. I didn't want her to see me weak. But she kept trying, and eventually I gave in. And I realized she didn't see me as weak at all. She thought I was strong. And soon I started believing it, too."

"She's a good girlfriend," Sam said.

"She is," Rowena said with a nod. "I couldn't have asked for anyone better. She's always been there for me. Even when I wouldn't let her." She sucked in a breath, shaking off memories of pushing you away, screaming that she was fine when she was clearly not. "The three of you should let one other be there."

"I know. It's just… easier said than done." A sad smile grazed Sam's face.

"Then I'll be there." Rowena's hand squeezed his shoulder in emphasis. "Call me whenever you want. I'll listen."

It was only fair. He'd listened to her, let her bare her soul without a shred of judgment. It was what friends did.

"I appreciate it," Sam said. "Thank you."

"Anytime."

Silence settled on the two of them, strangely comfortable, calming.

Then the door opened and the moment was gone like a flip of a switch. Sam turned back to the sink and started scrubbing at the discarded plate. Rowena pulled her hand away and grabbed the rag she'd been using to dry off the dishes.

You frowned, confused by their behavior. You quickly snapped out of it, though, and said, "You guys done?"

"Almost," Sam replied.

"Dean told me to get you. He wants to go home."

"Why didn't he come get me himself?"

"He went to start up the car." You rolled your eyes. "I apparently annoyed him when I said his favorite movie sucks."

Sam snorted. Rowena chuckled. Sounded like you.

"For the record, the movie sucks," you pointed out.

"To the surprise of no one," Rowena commented.

You grinned. "Want me to run you a bath?"

She beamed at the prospect. "If you'd be so kind."

"Anything for my girl." You wrapped an arm around her shoulder in a half-hug and pressed a long, wet kiss to her cheek.

Rowena's cheeks flushed a warm red. "You going to join me?"

"What do you think?" You gave a small giggle. Then, remembering you weren't alone, you blushed. "Thank you for your help today, Sam."

"Of course," he said with a nod.

Responding with a nod of your own, you rushed to work on her bath.

"A bath, huh?" Sam teased.

"Shut up," Rowena retorted, blushing harder. "At least I have a girlfriend to make me one."

"Ow."

"You asked for it, Samuel."

"I guess I did."

The two finished the work on dishes fast, and as Rowena was walking him out and wishing him a safe trip home, the warm, happy feeling remained. They were friends. Tonight only confirmed it.

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by OswinTheStrange.


End file.
